MOVING ON

 MOVING ON

By Peter Woodgate 

Glad we were

To leave behind

Those dingy rooms,

The peeling paint

And musty smells.

 

The old, cracked mirror

On the wall,

A picture of the king

And another that was made

From cockle shells.

 

The stairs,

That echoed daily,

With the thunder of our feet,

Would fall silent

With perhaps a creak or two.

 

And the mice,

Unwanted company,

Would be free to roam the rooms,

Undisturbed

And admiring the view.

 

Our brand new flat of concrete,

Had everything,

Three bedrooms and a bath

And balconies, with views

Out front and back.

 

Electric lights,

It smelt pristine,

Fresh painted walls,

Nice shiny floors,

Oh, what then did it lack?

 

Alas;

Our spirits lingered

Where bygone friends

Trod one by one,

Apprehension in that promised land

For we were moving on.

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate

 Box 666

By Jane Goodhew

The trees were rapidly changing colour, the verdant greens of spring and summer had been turned into burnished gold and lost their leaves completely autumn had come with a rush.  The warm winds that had crossed the Atlantic had fooled people into thinking it was still summer but they only had to look out of their windows to see winter was fast approaching and the next strong winds would remove the remaining leaves and all colour would be gone.  Winter can be such a gloomy time; nature might be busy beneath the ground but up above all appears worn and dreary.  In the early hours of the morning the bare trees look like a silhouette against the sky, filigree lace sketched in charcoal.  The birds still fly overhead and then swoop if they see something move in the fields but there is little around at this time of year and most have found somewhere warm and safe to live out the winter.

 

She had hoped to have gone away, overseas, anywhere it did not matter just as long as she did not spend another winter of doom and gloom here looking at him across the table and wishing upon wish that she had the courage to leave him but he had been clever and tied the business up so she could not easily sell her share.  No money, no travel, no escape. Then she had an idea, how about if she took a job out of the Lady, someone was always advertising for a companion for an elderly aunt of lonely widower.  He would wonder what she was up to if she went to the shops at this time of day so she looked it up on her computer.  Classified adds and there it was just what she was looking for.

 

Elderly lady requires travel companion for 3 months.  All expenses paid.  Up to date passport required and cheerful personality.  Box666

Well she was not too keen on the box number as it had a ring of the devil about it but the rest was just the answer to her problems so she composed a well thought out but witty reply and pressed send. 

 

A few days later came the response she had hoped for but had not dared to dream of.  You sound just the person I am looking for so meet me at Southampton Departures at 10am Saturday 22^nd November.  The tickets are booked and you will have your own adjoining cabin.  Send me your dress and shoe size and I will arrange for your clothes to be there so no need to pack, just bring yourself and your passport.

 

This all sounded too good to be true but she had to get away from her life here before she did something she would live to regret.  She had got to the stage where she could not bear to be in the same room as him, even eating was, what, exactly what, there are no words that can adequately describe how she resented every little move he made, every scratch of the plate, every time he lifted his fork to his mouth she cringed just waiting for the noise of his chomping.  No, whatever was ahead of her had got to be better than this; she would tell no-one not even her best friend.  She would send a letter after the ship had sailed.

 

The days seemed to drag, she could barely contain the excitement that was welling up inside of her and she could not believe that this was really happening nothing like this ever happened to someone like her.  She almost had to pinch herself to see if she were awake and not dreaming but no, she was awake and she re-read the new email to make sure there was no mistaking what she had read. It still said for her to get herself ready as the day of departure was this weekend and a car would pick her up at 7am outside St Marys Church Hall.  A car was coming to get her, clothes were being provided and oh how she had believed in fairies at the bottom of the garden, Santa at Christmas, if there was something to believe in then she would.  She longed to talk to her friend about it but she thought if she did she would somehow jinx it, break the spell after all it did appear that magic had played a part in this, she had made a wish and hey presto it was coming true.

 

The day of departure had finally arrive, her husband had gone out early that morning and he would not be back until late by which time she would be miles out to sea and for the first time in decades he would have to cook his own tea!  Her cooking was about all he would miss about her as they no longer had anything pleasant to say to one another.  She wondered how people could end up like this but many do.  Thankfully she had an escape route and she was going to take it.  The sky was brilliant blue but the air was crisp with low temperatures that were only to be expected at this time of year.  She pulled her hat down low over her ears and her scarf up until the ends joined, and she felt snug as a bug in a rug.  Her passport was in her handbag and a packet of paper tissues and wipes and a tooth brush and that was it, she turned and shut the front door and not once did she look back as she walked out of the life she had known and grown to detest. With a determined step she went forth to an unknown adventure that was about to begin.

 

The car was already waiting for her as she got to the church hall, the driver was smartly dressed, suit, tie, and yes he even had a cap, she thought she was about to faint, this was all too much for her to comprehend.  Life was looking good, what was she thinking, good, it was brilliant and she was intent on making the most of every minute.  She climbed into the back as he placed a blanket over her legs even though the car was warm, he said it was going to be a few hours before they got there and she may as well take a nap so that she would be fresh for the voyage.  This suited her as she was not up to making small talk and had had very little sleep for some time. She was too excited to thinking about what lay ahead of her and surprisingly enough she felt guilty.  She had not expected that, after all their relationship had not been loving for many years. Although he knew she was not happy remaining in the wilderness for the rest of her life he made no plans to move.  His life continued and she knew it would without her there, he would barely notice her missing apart from when it came to the evening and there was no meal on the table but he would survive and soon find someone to replace her, if it were only to employ a housekeeper.

 

She saw the sign for Departures or was it Embarkation after all it was a cruise ship and not a plane that she was about to spend the next three months on.  She suddenly began to feel a bit nervous and why not for she had no idea who she was meeting, where she was going, would it be 3 months at sea or would some of the time be spent on land and if so which country?  Too late now she had gone too far to change her mind or to let the old lady down, she just hoped it would all turn out okay and they would get along with each other.  The car had stopped and the driver opened the door and smiled as he could see the mixture of fear and excitement in her eyes and he wished she could tell her that it was going to be fine, that she had nothing to worry about, life was about to become everything she would ever have dreamed and more.

 

She stepped through the door and someone with a board with her name on it was standing just inside so she walked over to him and he took her into another area which was obviously for those who were travelling deluxe class.  There on a sofa which was far to large for her was a petite lady, elegantly dressed in a lilac silk trouser suit and a smile that lit up the room.  She introduced herself and at once she was able to relax as she just knew that everything would be fine, that she could get on with Eleanor and wherever they ended up would be more than acceptable for her.  They chatted as if they had known each other their whole lifes, they could so easily have been sisters or perhaps because of their age difference Aunt and niece.  It did not matter they were going to be friends of this she was sure.  After all the procedures had been followed, passport checks and tickets being given with cards that had your photo included on them, this would open your cabin and also allow you to have as much food and drink as you wished to indulge in throughout the voyage as well as other extras too many to mention.  It was not a large ship of which she was glad as she did not like to think of some of the cruise ships that sailed the seas these days. They were as big as a small town if not bigger as some could hold over 5,000 passengers, far more people than lived in her village and even those for miles around.  This could take only 500 and that was more than enough for her especially as this was her first cruise and what a first it would be.

 

They entered on level 3 but they were shown to a lift and taken to Deck 5 which was often referred to as the pay and sway as the higher you went the more it would move if the sea was rough or the winds strong.  She did not care, she did not get travel sick and the higher she was the further she would be able to see in the distance as they crossed the Atlantic and made their way up the might Amazon and then onto the Caribbean.  Finally she knew where they were going and she could not believe it, the Amazon then Barbados, Grenada, and St Lucia the names went on until she could not take in more names.  Her cabin was 6b and Eleanors 6a, there was only one other and that was 6c.  It seemed quite spooky that the Box number was 666 and not the cabin numbers read 666 if you missed out a, b and c.  She wondered if the Captain would be called De’vile.  She laughed out loud as she thought of someone having that name and then she saw the photo on the wall and it was of the Captain and his crew and his name was none other than D’Eville.   This was just too coincidental for words and she began to feel very uneasy about the whole situation she found herself in.  She gave herself a long and hard talking to, when she realised how ridiculous her thinking was becoming. The Devil? Was she going to find that the ship was call Hell?  No, it was in fact called D’Angelo.  That was just as bad; since now she was on an Angel with the Devil at the Helm…

 

Copyright Jane Goodhew

                                     

                                    

 Limpet - between the tides

                                  By Christopher Mathews

 

Oblivious of men, she keeps her small safe world, locked away from crashing waves, but she never makes a pearl.

 

No precious jewels are secure and safe inside her secret cave. She has no time between the waves to be a human’s slave.

 

Record of the years, the cycles of the moon, marked in calcium layers, she paints her little room, now dark now light, now blue now white, the health of the sea is held in each, the container of her life.

 

The ebb and flow of tide, are her night and day, now wet now dry now hot now cool, deep beneath the waves.

 

Slowly graze the limestone crags, the gravestones of the ships of men. Hold fast, be strong, all winter long, when storms must always come.

 

Hold tight, hold tight, with all you might, when the pecking seagull comes. be tough, survive and live your life, my armour plated one.

 

Like the grooves of a record or the rings of a tree, she marks the years of famine or of plenty. First he then she, then young now old, the solitary life of the limpet is seldom ever told.

© Christopher Mathews

No Title

 It is piece where I was asked to provide ten lines of something different, whilst still having a connection to Japanese short form poetry.

In this case I chose to interspersed a tanka with an opening verse from something I wrote back in 2015/16.

No title.

By Robert Kingston

 all at once 

Out into the shadows of mighty cranes trod 

      the cherry on the corner

Distant sound of pulleys, wires whining through the sky 

      releases its blossom 

Muffled sounds of toiling, on occasion a ship's fog horn 

      we reflect on memories 

A milkman laughs and whistles, 

        in the family home 

As birds traverse through Autumn's dewy ply. 

 

By Robert Kingston ~ from (Pan Haiku Review, August 2024)

 

 Riddles 18

By the Riddler

 

The Riddler has two puzzles for us today:

 

No 1.  Which hand is best for stirring sugar into a cup of tea?

 

No 2. Feed me, give me life!   Give me a drink and I will die…  What am I?

 

Keep em coming Riddler

 

 Final Disclosure

Christopher Mathews 

First Contact 

There had been rumours and sightings for years of course.  Since Rendlesham Forest in 1980 and before that the Roswell incident in the US.  But no formal recognition, no government acknowledgement that they existed at all, just blunt official denial, coverups, misdirection and wild press speculation.  People, being what they are, made up their own minds or more accurately, their imaginations. There were no hard facts. 

 

However, decades of speculation came to an abrupt end on the last day of March 2033 when official government disclosure was made obsolete in a most dramatic way.  Every internet site, every TV and radio station, every mobile phone and subdermal coms chip carried the same chilling announcement.

 

Do not be alarmed we have taken control of your communications networks. This message is from the Intergalactic High Council. Humanity has at last come of age.  Your race was ceded by this Council eons ago over infinite space.  You are now on the threshold of solar colonisation, soon you will discover interstellar travel.  

 

But your science and technology have outstripped your wisdom.  You lack self-control, in this you are infants, you will destroy one another and the Earth.  You cannot be trusted to govern yourselves; you cannot yet be allowed to spread beyond your world.

 

Humanity is therefore now under the guardianship of our Interstellar Caretaker, Ansat.  He will meet your world leaders to discuss the transition.  Forty solar cycles from now Ansat will address your world.

 

This announcement sounded wise and benign, even fatherly, but was heavy with the threat of absolute and irresistible power.  The same broadcast was repeated over and over for twenty-four hours, and then communications went back to normal.  But the interruption had caused chaos and barely contained panic. Aeroplanes and stock-markets around the globe both crashed. The delicate balance of modern life, so dependent on technology that we have come to rely upon had been exposed as fragile, and we all now knew it. Humanity was at the mercy of these strangers, and we were powerless. Effortlessly they could disrupt the technological web we have come to rely on.  The food supply chain would collapse overnight, panic would break out, as people squabbled over dwindling supplies.

 

“A loaf of bread for a day’s wages,” the book of Revelation predicted of the last days; a succinct description of social collapse which lies just below the surface of our age.

The folly of our proudly vaunted long life expectancy is just an elusion, as all those dependent on medication would die within a week, because no supplies could get through for lack of fuel. 

 

It is shocking to think that with our technology gone, we are all just one step from being bronze aged goat herders. Hubris had brought us to the brink of collapse.

 

Our world would now cling to their promise that mankind is on the threshold of its next giant evolutionary leap. With this announcement, humanity is truly poised on the edge of the next Cambrian Explosion.  We know that we are not now alone in the vast universe as we once thought, and now nothing would ever be the same again.

 

Over the intervening weeks, the world’s press was fixated on this one story, almost to the exclusion of all else. Examining every implication and possible outcome. Respected scientists, from every discipline, clamoured to give their insights.  Many came forward to say they had been monitoring the massive spaceships in orbit around our little planet for years.  but were forbidden to speak out.  

 

Fringe new age cult groups as well as many mainstream religious leaders like the Pope held massive gatherings. Offering their welcome, announcing Ansat as a saviour, the twelfth Imam, the coming messiah, whilst desperately trying to accommodate this paradigm shift into their traditions.

 

The sense of anticipation mixed with real dread was palpable. No one doubted the truth of the announcement or the validity of their claim. Dissenters were swiftly and silently disappeared.

 

The same worldwide announcement was made every seven days throughout the months of April and May, just as spring was coming into full bloom, but it also brought social unrest, collapse and even chaos.

 

On the fortieth day, all the phone and TV screens changed to a live feed from the White House lawn, in America.   The world’s press was busy setting up cameras. Leaders from all over the planet were gathered.  Our own King, along with all the royal crowned heads of the world were there. The leaders of the world’s religions were distinct in their colourful finery, and most shocking were rulers of nations, which under normal circumstances would never be seen at the same gathering.

 

The Benevolent Guardian 

 

A thundering sound was followed by the shocking sight of a gigantic liquid spaceship landing on the White House lawn.  A hatch opened with a cold metallic hissing sound.  The dignitaries parted as all eyes turned to look upon a terrifying sight.  Countless numbers of 7-foot-tall non-human creatures emerged. Human-like, but only just enough to be recognisable. These looked like monsters made from the discarded remains of all sorts of reptilian creatures.  Their appearance was softened, but not wholly disguised by the fact that they were clothed in what could be, either royal livery or more sinisterly military uniforms.  Each was carrying a long complicated metallic blue object, which ambiguously, could be a royal sceptre or a weapon. They were leading, what to everyone’s relief was a man, a very normal-looking man.  He was rather tall and slender, possibly of Scandinavian or Nordic ancestry.  He approached a microphone set up upon a dais.  His tall, mute entourage fanned out, shoulder-to-shoulder in an arc behind him, obscuring completely the world leaders.  Earth was looking on, holding its breath.

He spoke with a soft engaging voice, delivered in a clear and refined English accent.  Afterwards, others told me that he had an educated American voice, or spoke in perfect fluent French.  It seems to me that each person heard him in the voice they instinctively most trusted.  Oddly, none of the recordings made of that announcement can be recovered, they were all blank.  Finally, he cleared his throat and addressed the waiting world…

 

My children, it is a real joy to us that humanity has at last come of age.  But you are like adolescents who have discovered the first strength of manhood, but not the maturity to wield it.  Think of me as your guardian, taking care that you do not destroy yourselves before you can walk on your own. Or, if you prefer, as a schoolteacher settling squabbles in the playground.

 

I represent the will of the ‘Intergalactic High Council of Sentient Beings’ who, in their beneficence wish to invite mankind to our table when you are ready. Until that time, you must submit to our custodianship.

 

Your leaders have therefore agreed to surrender their power and authority to me, for a while.  I have crossed the vast expanse of space over millions of years in peace and friendship to…

 

But here, his soft voice and seductively reasonable words were abruptly interrupted by a break in the transmission.  A dishevelled looking old man appeared in what was obviously a makeshift studio.  He was half recognisable as the leading physicist who had been appointed by our own government.  He had met with the interstellar delegation when first contact was made, but soon after had mysteriously disappeared.

 

The unmasking

He lies; they are not what they claim to be.  They have not travelled across space to bring peace. They have always walked among us.  They flatter with the notion that ‘humanity has come of age’ or with an invitation to the ‘high table of sentient beings’, but they have appeared to subjugate humanity.  They impress with technology because it is in technology and science that we have placed our faith.  We have abandoned the God who made us and have surrendered to the demons who would enslave us.

 

History is littered with their malevolent presence bringing oppression and misery to mankind.  They are interdimensional beings; they occupied the shadows, the dark matter, they are the goblins and ghosts. The demigods and demons of ancient literature they are the Nephilim of the bible. The devils and the fallen angels of history reinvented as space beings. Subjugation is their plan; they seek to bring hell to earth and obliterate the Imago Dei and re-make man in their own image.

Ansat is nothing more than a demon masquerading as an Angel of light. He came to deceive and enslave humanity in chains of darkness and proclaim himself as God…..

 

But here the screen went blank, all screens went blank, all communication went blank, each of us was now alone, facing an uncertain future.

 

Copyright Christopher Mathews

 

THE CHALLENGE OF NATIONS

 THE CHALLENGE OF NATIONS (The New Olympic sport.)  

By Bob French

I was in a bad mood.  If Mavis bloody Hetherington had not caught chicken pox, I would be down on the east stand of Craven Cottage watching Fulham kick the stuffing out of Accrington Stanley.  Instead, I’m sitting listening to the forty-nine or so delegates whose countries they had represented and participated in the 2028 and 2032 summer Olympic Games, and was trying to filter out whose ten penny-worth of ideas were both logical and possible. 

The Chair of the Executive Committee of the Games of the Olympiad, that’s the summer games to the likes of me and you, had open the meeting with only one agenda item, which ended up a free-for-all shouting match, which, if my ears didn’t fail me, the Germans were just a little bit louder than the French, which didn’t surprise me.

          As I slowly glanced around the room, I was impressed at the shape of everyone. They all looked young, fit, and well-groomed. I knew many of them from my participation in the 2024 and 2028 games, and guessed that most were the same age as me, but it was quite noticeable that there was a distinct lack of spare tires, baggy-eyes and cheeks and double chins, even those whose hair had turned grey did their level best to hide it with heavy duty hair dye.

          The agenda was only one item; it was felt that most of the events that took place in the past two Summer Games had reached their human performance ceiling; No one could jump higher than 2.68 meters any more, or sprint the 100 meters faster than 8.75 or to complete the marathon in under 2 hours. And to compound the decision there some sports now banned because it was felt they were too dangerous; such as boxing, wrestling, long distance running, white water canoeing, rock climbing and due to the EU wide ban on the use of horses in sporting events, all equestrian events were scrapped. The purpose of this meeting was to come up with a new set of sports for the 2036 summer games.

As I glanced around the room, I suddenly felt, not uncomfortable, but a little out of place, and grinned as I took a quick look down at my spare tyre.  I felt proud of the time and money I had invested into creating this master piece, and of the time felt pleased that I no longer spent lifting weights or pounding the track day after day. 

A loud voice caused me to look down to the head of the table.

“Je ne comprendess passsst Woman, for God sakes!” and smiled as Mr. Azlaney Yilmaz, the Turkish national swimming coach, whose turn it was to chair such meetings, was gradually losing his temper with Madame Charlotte Montpellier, who had won gold in the wrestling in 2028 games. You see the admin language of the Olympics movement is French and try as he may, old Azlaney’s grasp of the French language was absolutely pants. He tried to talk over her and I felt like discretely warning him that Madame Montpellier had a bit of a reputation for slapping any person who was upsetting her, and by the look of things, that wasn’t very far away.

The person on my left was a woman who should really have been on the cover of Vogue or Cosmopolitan.  She was Swedish and had a smile to die for. I had already met her at the bar and we struck up a decent conversation.  Her name was Helga and I quickly forgot her surname as I couldn’t pronounce it. She and I had participated in the 2032 games in Australia. She had won two silver medals; I got drunk and missed the finals.

We talked for a few minutes about what she was going to propose and thought her idea would probably be alright, but her proposal still centered on the athlete being ultra fit to compete and win, which I then tried to explain to her that the reason we were here was to discuss some alternative sports.

Suddenly, Azlaney lost his temper with Madame Montpelier.  Stood and began bashed the gavel several times to bring some order to the meeting.  It was the Norwegian representative who tugged at Azlaney’s sleeve and quietly informed him that everyone in the room was already silent.

“Oh, thank you. We are here today to suggest alternative events for future summer games. You have all had ten minutes to test your ideas with representatives from other nations, yes? So I shall start with you Heer Dr. Karlstadt from Germany.

The tall and elegant man stood and in perfect French spoke.

“Firstly, I would like to retain the fitness elements of all events and…”

Before he could finish the sentence, be was instantly interrupted by several other representatives who shouted him down.

“This is not what we are here for,” seem to be the cry. Some simply banged the table in protest.

Azlaney gradually worked his way around the table until he came to the Irish delegate.

“Mr. chairman, I would like to propose that instead of the 100-meter sprint, the 200 and 400 meters and the 110 hurdles. The athletes line up as usual, on hearing the pistol, they race to the first hurdle and drink a lemonade, then onto the second hurdle and drink a spritzer and so on with the drinks getting stronger as they move down the course until they reach the finish.  The winner is the person who drinks all the drinks and spills none of it.  This method can be used for the steeple chase, the 800, the 1500 meters and by four-by-four relay.

This proposal was met with an outcry as it virtually destroyed the ethos of the Olympics.  Madam Montpelier stood and clapped her hand to bring silence to the meeting which was really getting out of hand.

“Mr. Chairman, I would like to suggest that we each put our names on a piece of paper and you select the name from a hat. The person chosen then stands up and gives a brief description of his proposal. That way there is no cheating, but everyone must agree to the changes to be introduces and agree to adopt them.”

The room fell into silence. Azlaney stood and glanced at each person around the table. “Well, what do you think?  We need a method of selecting the new events or we shall be here all week.”

There was an unhealthy murmur starting to build up in the room, but I picked up from looking around the table, that most of the delegates thought it was a fair way to arrive at a solution.

Azlaney turned to one of the secretaries and asked her to provide each representative with paper and pencil, then asked the woman who had just brought in the coffee to empty one of the ice buckets, and dry it thoroughly, then go and stand at the other end of the table.

When he thought that everyone had completed the task, he asked the coffee lady to slowly go around the table and allow each delegate to drop their name into the bucket.

“Now, I shall ask…..” 

“Excuse me Sir.”  It was the coffee lady who had interrupted him and was looking a little bit flushed.

“Yes, what is it my dear?”

“How many pieces of paper are each delegate permitted to put into the bucket?”

“Only one, why?”

“Well, the gentleman sitting next to the man in the brown suit put three pieces of paper into the bucket.”

You could have heard a pin drop as everyone turned and looked at the Russian delegate.

Azlaney asked the coffee lady to bring the bucket to him, then carefully sifted through the pieces of paper until he found the three pieces of paper with the Russian’s name on them.  He slowly took them out and ripped them up in-front of everyone.

“Mr. Yashkenski, kindly leave this room.  I shall brief the Executive committee of your conduct and strongly suggest that your country be barred from the next two Olympic games.”

In total silence, Yashkenski slowly stood, turned, and left the room. Once the door had closed, everyone in the room burst into cheers and poor old Azlaney had another ten minutes of trying to bring some sort of order with his gavel.

He then reshuffled the bucked and invited the coffee lady to pick one piece of paper from it.

She moved forward, rose up onto her tip toes and picked a piece of paper.

“Mr. Ron Jenkins of Great Britain, please stand up and give the meeting your proposal?

“Mr. Chairman and fellow delegates.  I suggest that events where brute strength is used to win, be replaced with board games. Each nation to provide a variety of their national games with a warm-up period where other nations can learn how to play them.”

There was an eerie silence as each delegate pondered what I had said, then, without any warning, the room erupted into applaud.

Copyright Bob French